


too many secrets poison the soul

by pyrrhic_victory



Series: dangerous sentiments [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Chronic Pain, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Episode: s02e25 Tribunal, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Secret Relationship, political differences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victory/pseuds/pyrrhic_victory
Summary: "Did you know about this?"Julian asks Garak for his help when Chief O'Brien is arrested by the Cardassian government, and the situation brings some of their cultural differences to light.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: dangerous sentiments [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576258
Comments: 19
Kudos: 195





	too many secrets poison the soul

“Did you know about this?”

“I’m sorry?” Garak wasn’t really listening. He was sorting through padds on the counter in his shop. Accounts or orders or something.

“Chief O’Brien,” Julian impatiently said.

“What about him?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Julian said, though that was exactly what he wanted to hear. He couldn’t cope with knowing Garak had been involved with this in some way. “He’s been arrested by the Cardassian government.”

Garak paused, and hummed as though this was a mildly interesting piece of station gossip. 

“I see. That must be very upsetting for you.” 

“ _Upsetting?_ They’re going to execute him!”

He just carried on with his work, pointedly not looking at Julian.

“I assume he’s committed some terrorist offence against my people?”

“Of course not! Miles is a good man. And they won’t even tell us what he’s charged with until the trial has already begun! How is anyone supposed to defend themselves in court without knowing what they’re being accused of?” 

Julian was practically begging him to prove that he didn’t agree with Cardassia on this. That he wasn’t condoning the system that allowed this to happen. That he was better than the people doing this to Miles. 

Garak steadfastly avoided his eyes, still focused on the scattered padds on his counter.

“What would be the point of that? Any criminal facing execution is going to claim innocence whether it’s true or not. Cardassian justice circumvents that issue by clearly determining guilt before making an arrest. The trial is intended to demonstrate that guilt, not debate it.”

His heart sank. Of course. This was exactly the kind of dystopian practice Garak had been involved in himself before he was exiled. 

He forgot, sometimes, just how great the distance between them actually was. Less than twelve hours ago they’d been pressed so close together that he wasn’t sure where he ended and Garak began. But here, now, light-years of cultural difference had swept down between them and cut him off.

“You can’t seriously think this is fair.” 

A raised brow. An expression he tried desperately to read but couldn’t. Still, Garak barely looked up. 

“There is a difference between what seems fair to an individual and what is fair to society at large.” 

“This is neither,” Julian said. 

Garak scoffed at that. “And what about you, doctor? Do you think Federation trials are conducted fairly? The trials can last months. Innocent people’s lives are ruined while criminals walk free on legal technicalities. Justice hinges on the opinion of a group of randomly selected, easily bribed laymen listening to evidence they don’t understand.”

Julian felt a swell of incredulity. How could Garak seriously stand there and claim Federation trials were worse than Cardassian ones? “The Federation would never convict an innocent man without a trial.”

“Cardassia would never put an innocent man on trial in the first place.”

Julian didn’t know where to go from there. He’d come in hoping Garak would have some kind of sympathy for the situation. He was in exile, for God’s sake, he’d been on the receiving end of Cardassian justice himself.

Maybe this was one of those times where Garak was saying something he didn’t believe, just because it was the Cardassian thing to say. He couldn’t tell. There seemed to be so much propaganda and brainwashing in Cardassian society that it was impossible to work out what was real and what was just a verbatim recital of ideology that everyone repeated, but no-one believed. 

“You know people on Cardassia.” 

“A _brilliant_ deduction, doctor. Though it certainly feels as though I’ve lived here a lifetime, I was not, in fact, born on this charming station.” 

He shuffled through padds, casting several aside on the counter somewhat more aggressively than necessary, and rubbed his eye before entering something onto the one he’d been looking for. Usually the indignation he put on was just that- something he put on to further their debates. But Julian could hear the difference in his voice when he meant it. 

He sighed and pulled back, not wanting to make this into an actual argument. He had to compartmentalise, the way he did to ensure he didn’t lose his mind every time he was at risk of losing a patient. Right now, his feelings for Garak were irrelevant to the issue at hand. 

“I meant that you might know people who are involved with what’s happening to Miles.” 

“It’s always possible, I suppose.” 

Still terse. 

Julian decided to cut to the heart of the matter. That tended to get their conversations where they needed to go faster than trying to dance around the subject. 

“Garak, my friend is in trouble and I need your help.”

Garak finally paused in his work.

“You are aware that I may not be able to _do_ anything. The word of an exiled tailor, even one who is owed a few favours, does not carry much weight in a courtroom.”

“I know. But you’re the best shot I’ve got right now. So, please.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. 

“Very well. I owe you a debt and I will do everything in my power to clear it.” 

The idea made him uncomfortable. He didn’t save people’s lives because he wanted something out of them afterwards. And he hadn’t meant to make Garak feel like he _had_ to do this. But they were here now and Garak was going to help. That had to be a positive. 

“Thank you.”

“There is just one thing, doctor.” He couldn’t read Garak’s face. He thought he looked faintly irritated still, but it could have just as easily been wry amusement. “You are assuming that Cardassia must be at fault here. But suppose you’re wrong about the chief, and he has done exactly what he’s been accused of. Are you willing to disregard the terms of the treaty and interfere with Cardassian justice, because the guilty man happens to be your friend?“ 

“Disappointed in me, Garak?” 

Garak just smiled. 

“On the contrary. I’m impressed.”

***

There were enough people in military intelligence and security who owed him a favour that he could find what he needed to know before the morning, and pass it on to the doctor. 

The operation was a messy one. Discrediting the Federation by framing a Starfleet officer for supplying warheads to the Maquis, and wasting a perfectly good agent in deep cover in the process. This kind of shoddy workmanship was the reason the Obsidian Order never considered the military’s own intelligence agency a real threat to their power. 

All he had to do was tell the doctor to perform a medical analysis of the spy, who had been surgically altered to replace a human killed at Setlik III, and suggest that the archon in charge of Chief O’Brien’s case might not be pleased to see him at the publicly broadcast trial. In his few encounters with Archon Makbar, he’d found her to be very efficient and sensible. She’d likely see sense and quietly give up the scheme before allowing Starfleet to expose it in front of the entire population. 

Contrary to Federation beliefs, most Cardassians would be just as uncomfortable as humans were with the things the military did when no-one was watching, let alone the Obsidian Order. That was why they worked in the shadows while broadcasting their trials: to emphasise that what they were doing was correct. 

_Too many secrets poison the soul_ , Tolan had once told him. Garak bore enough secrets to kill him, things that were kept silent because if ordinary Cardassians learned of them, they would be poisoned too. They would begin to question the military and the Order, as the growing population of dissidents were, and the system would fall apart. Cardassia would descend into chaos. 

“Burning the midnight oil, doctor?” 

Bashir was hovering in the infirmary. Garak knew for a fact that his shift was over, but here he was, bending over his console. Organising his research files, it looked like. 

“Something like that.” No witty remark. That was always a bad sign for Julian. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Julian pushed a few buttons, pointedly avoiding his gaze. 

“Just got a bit of work to do, that’s all.”

Garak hummed and looked around the infirmary. No nurses, no patients. Just Julian, hunched over, avoiding him. Avoiding something else, too. 

He suspected that Julian was disappointed with the way he’d answered his questions earlier. He’d been fighting a bad headache all day, and he’d let his temper get away from him at the wrong moment. Though even if he’d been perfectly calm about it, Julian wouldn’t have understood. He didn’t understand much of Cardassian society. Predictably so, being human. 

Julian simply wasn’t built for the implicit understandings required to navigate the delicate nature of Cardassian politics. Volumes of meaning could be hidden in a single look. While Garak could be reasonably confident that Makbar would release O’Brien, because that’s what any sensible Cardassian would do when on the brink of being caught in a risky manoeuvre, he couldn’t give Julian that confidence. 

Even if he did explain, he doubted he could he provide much in the way of comfort for the anxiety that would only be resolved when Julian heard confirmation that the chief was going to be alright. 

So, knowing that any reassurance he did offer would be unhelpful at best and unwelcome at worst, he merely touched the man’s shoulder and excused himself to sleep off his headache. 

It had been weeks, but they still weren’t getting better. He lied to Bashir the other day and said they were. He didn’t even know why he’d done it. Pride, maybe. Or the instinct of a wounded animal trying to hide its injury. But it had almost certainly been a lie. It was getting difficult to work for even a few hours at a time before the pain became unbearable.

He gritted his teeth and felt the vibration of it jerk through his skull. 

Either the pain was getting stronger, or he was becoming tolerant to the medication. Either way, he would need to go back to Bashir before long. Which would mean admitting he’d lied. Which would mean Bashir would think he was lying this time, and assume he was just after stronger painkillers for his own nefarious purposes.

Either way, he was exposing a weakness. He didn’t want to see Julian look at him like that. He’d had enough of the man’s pity already. 

If that’s all it was. 

Julian had seen him half-mad and vicious and broken and had taken it all in his stride. He’d watched part of his mind snap in withdrawal, and he hadn’t run away. He’d stood his ground and argued with Garak while he was spewing the worst, most vile things he could think of. And then he'd stood his ground and argued with Enabran Tain to save his life right afterwards. 

He refused to allow Garak to die, not out of pity but because that was his duty, which was fascinatingly Cardassian of him. And perhaps he would no longer be indebted to Julian after this, but he would always owe him his life.

Maybe that was the root of his attachment to Julian. Guilt, or obligation. 

No, that had never been his problem. This was an unfortunate case of sentiment. He’d always been too prone to it for his career. 

And his inconvenient tendency to emotional investment only made it more painful to think of Julian getting tired of him. And since Garak had never been an optimist, he assumed it would happen sooner rather than later. He’d get tired of the secrets. He’d get tired of being with someone who he had to treat as a patient more often than he could be with as a lover. His Federation morality would finally come up against some part of his Cardassian identity that he couldn’t countenance, and he’d turn away. 

Julian would leave him alone. 

Everything else in his life felt bland and difficult. Exile was as miserable now as it had ever been. He was largely useless here. And though he now liked tailoring rather more than he expected Tain intended him to when he sentenced him to spend the rest of his days fixing the uniforms of Cardassian soldiers, the sparks of satisfaction and enjoyment the job gave him had been subsumed by the uncomfortable grey apathy that had lodged itself firmly in his mind after deactivating the implant. 

But Julian...Julian made him feel a little less like a bitter, hollow shell. He made him want to be more than one. And it was stupid and sentimental, and it scared him. It wasn’t as though Garak had a career to ruin anymore, but losing Julian the way Tain would take him away would be punishment enough for loving him.

#### ***

Miles was alright. It was only when that relief sank in that he allowed himself to leave the infirmary and sleep at last. 

When people were sick or hurt, he could help. But in the messy, complicated world of politics and bureaucracy, he was powerless, and it was terrifying. It was Garak who knew how to navigate that world. He’d dragged him into it once, with the Cardassian orphans. And he’d helped again this time. Not strictly voluntarily, but he’d done it.

His relationships didn’t usually have so many moral considerations. There were the difficulties of a Starfleet officer being involved with an agent of a hostile government, then the ethics of doctor-patient relationships, not to mention the differences that arose from being with someone with incongruous political views, let alone someone with Garak’s past. 

Usually, he compartmentalised those parts of his life. When he was with Garak, he wasn’t a Starfleet officer. He was just himself. But putting it the other way around was harder. Yesterday, he’d tried to be just a Starfleet officer, and put Garak in the clear role of a person with the information he needed to save a fellow officer’s life. But it was difficult, the way it was difficult to switch off his feelings and act objectively when he needed to perform surgery on someone he knew. 

Garak’s shop was closed in the morning, when he went to thank him. That in itself wasn’t too unusual; he didn’t have a lot of business and sometimes he preferred to work on things in his quarters. The shop had been closed during normal working hours more often recently. But when their usual lunch hour came and he was nowhere to be found, Julian started to get concerned. 

What if he’d got into trouble for helping them free Miles?

He swung by his quarters when it became clear that he wasn’t going to show up for lunch and rang the bell.

Nothing. 

“Garak? Are you in there?” There wasn’t anywhere else he could be. And after the implant he’d learned to be wary of leaving Garak by himself when he was ignoring attempts to speak with him. “Look, if you don’t want to see me, fine, but you’d better come out and tell me that, otherwise I’m going to assume you’re dying and come in. Okay?” 

Silence. 

He sighed and gave him a few more seconds before putting in his medical override, and the doors slid open. Pitch blackness that took a moment to adjust to. Again, concerning. By the light of the computer panels and the viewport, he glanced around and finally spotted a shape huddled in bed, motionless. 

“Garak?” 

“Hmm.” 

He couldn’t see his face in the dark, but the sound was muffled and quiet, tight with pain. 

“What happened? Are you alright?” 

“Just...a headache, doctor.”

“ _Just_ a headache?”

He hadn’t come by the infirmary for more painkillers in a while. Julian had taken that as a sign that the pain was getting better, and asked about it, and Garak had smiled in his usual way and said he was in _perfect health, thank you, Doctor_. 

The last time he said that, he’d been dying. 

“What...time is it?”

The strained monosyllables were a very bad sign. Nothing stopped Garak monologuing, not pain or climax or dying.

“It’s lunchtime.” 

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out the edges of Garak’s face. He was curled up on his side, lying very still. His eyelids were only cracked open a fraction, blue eyes that usually shone bright with passion now watching him dully. 

Julian got out his tricorder. 

“Don’t,” came a weak protest. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to make sure it’s not the implant.” 

Garak sighed and shifted his arm over his ear to block out the noise as he scanned him. Highly elevated stress hormone, understandably, but nothing else especially out of place. 

“It looks like a nasty migraine, but it’s not going to kill you. When did this start?”

“Mmph. Yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

Silence. Right, yesterday they’d been trying to save Miles. He’d even come by the infirmary in the evening, hadn’t he? Maybe he’d wanted to ask but felt too awkward? No, when Garak wanted something he wasn’t deterred by awkwardness. 

“Does it hurt to move?”

“Mmm.”

“Do you feel nauseous?”

“Mmm.”

“Dizzy?”

“Mmm.” 

The vague noises of acknowledgement scared him. Garak usually just got snappy when he was in pain, like he had yesterday morning. He’d been more vocal and mobile than this when he was dying.

“Have you taken any painkillers?”

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

Silence. He sighed. 

“I’ll go back to the infirmary and get some. Don’t go anywhere.” 

“No.” 

“What?”

Garak glared at him weakly. _“No.”_

“I heard that, but ‘no’, what? ‘No, you don’t want me to go’?“ 

He suspected Garak would have rolled his eyes in a different circumstance. 

“ _No_ , the medication doesn’t help.”

“How do you know it doesn’t help if you haven’t taken any?”

A weary exhale. His eyes drifted shut. 

“This isn’t the first time it’s been this bad, is it?”

“Hmm.” 

“And the medication didn’t help before?”

“No.”

He had to restrain himself from going off on one about how Garak never told him the straightforward truth about anything, even his medical condition, because it wouldn’t do either of them much good when he was in this state. 

“Then we can try something else. Try not to get into any more trouble while I’m gone.”

He returned to the infirmary and brought back a few different medications that he’d thought might work with Cardassian neurochemistry. Garak hadn’t moved an inch. He administered his best guess at an effective painkiller very carefully so as not to disturb his head too much. 

“We’ll give it a few minutes and see if that helps.” 

He left Garak’s side and paced over to the desk. Staring impatiently at patients doesn’t usually put them in a healing mood. Nosing around patients’ belongings doesn’t put them in a healing mood either, but Garak wasn’t looking.

There were nearly a dozen padds scattered over the table. There was a shipping manifest of fabrics written in Federation Standard, but the text on all the others was Bajoran or Kardasi. He leaned close to one to squint at the Kardasi letters he couldn’t understand. He hadn’t realised that Garak actually spoke Standard; he was so eloquent that he’d assumed what he heard was coming through the translator. A necessary skill for a spy, he supposed. 

Maybe part of the reason Garak was so imperceptible was that he was thinking in an alien language. He didn’t even know what Kardasi sounded like. 

“Looking for covert messages, doctor?” Came a low voice. He jumped. Garak was sitting up now, watching him. He’d never heard him speak so quietly. 

“Just doing my duty as a Starfleet officer, Garak.” Julian crossed over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Did it help?”

“Somewhat. I do apologise for missing lunch.” 

“That’s alright. We could get dinner instead, if you‘re feeling up to it.” 

Garak tilted his head. “You would like that?” They’d never actually done something strictly romantic like that before, except that first night together. Usually, they crept into each other’s quarters at odd hours and ate lunch as usual like nothing had ever happened. 

“If you want.” 

“It would be terribly rude to refuse such an invitation so soon after standing you up,” Garak murmured, which Julian translated as meaning he _did_ want to but didn’t want to _say_ he wanted to. “I have quite a lot to say about that dreadful play. _Richard III_. I can only imagine what happened to the first two of them.” 

Julian took a moment to look over Garak as well as he could in the dim light. His face was rigid, eyes empty and tired. 

“How often are you getting these migraines?”

“I am perfectly capable of handling it.” He raised his voice, but looked like he regretted it immediately, flinching, shoulders tensing. 

That was a point he often made: he could deal with his pain alone. He didn’t need anybody to look after him. Probably because nobody had offered in so long that he didn’t know how to accept help when it was given. 

That, and his unwavering, infuriating pride. 

“I know that. But you don’t have to handle it alone.”

Julian reached out in the dark, found his thigh through the sheets and rested his hand there, trying to communicate support without offending him. Butting heads with Cardassian pride usually didn’t get anyone very far. Garak looked at him, eyes narrowed, probably only tolerating the sentiment because he was too tired to chide him for it. 

“Miles is alright, by the way. You were right about the archon. Thought you might want to know.” 

“Ah.” There was a brief tightening of his lips that might have been a smile had he not been in unbearable pain a few minutes previously. “I’m glad I could be of service. It’s not often a Cardassian gets the opportunity to save a Starfleet officer’s life.”

“About as often as a Starfleet officer saving a Cardassian, I’d say.”

“You’d be surprised,” Garak said, but glanced at him with a serious expression. “But I’d prefer if my involvement in the matter was kept quiet.” 

“Why?” Julian would have thought that he’d be glad to earn a bit of respect from the other inhabitants of the station, many of whom regarded Julian with suspicion for even speaking to him, and made little effort to conceal their outright dislike. 

“I can’t have people thinking I’ve developed such obvious Federation sympathies. How am I supposed to pull in customers without my aura of dangerous intrigue?” 

He put on a remarkable imitation of his usual light tone, which made Julian wonder just how often he succeeded in putting it on when he was miserable without anyone noticing. But exhaustion crept in, and his face held shadows that lingered no matter how he turned his head in the darkness. This kind of thing took hours to get over, even after a strong hypospray.

Julian patted his thigh once more and got up.

“Get some rest. Stay out of trouble. I’ll check on you for dinner later, alright?”

“Please, not the Klingon restaurant,” Garak said, looking ill at the thought. “I am not in a fit state for gagh.” 

“God, no. I wouldn’t put you through that. We can have something here.”

“Do all your patients receive such dutiful care, doctor?” 

“Only the most difficult ones,” Julian smiled. “Now rest. I mean it. I’ll know if you haven’t.” 

“Sometimes I think that if you had your way, I’d never leave my bed at all.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Julian winked from the doorway and left him to rest. Maybe one of these days he’d actually listen.

He was still figuring out how he felt about their political differences. Garak wouldn't be Garak if he wasn't Cardassian. Half their relationship was arguing about philosophy and politics. But there was a difference between Garak starting a friendly debate and Garak defending a system that almost killed one of Julian's friends.

But he'd helped anyway. That was what mattered.

He could never tell whether Garak’s speeches about Cardassian values were supposed to be ironic or not. But he guessed now that the ambiguity was not only intentional but necessary. Even though he was exiled from his home, Garak would never let on that he felt or acted on anything other than complete loyalty to Cardassia, whether he had any ‘Federation sympathies’ or not. 

Perhaps it was another example of his Cardassian pride, or just plain paranoia. The Obsidian Order could always be listening, and they didn’t seem like the kind of organisation to let something like this go unpunished.

It occurred to him that Starfleet wasn’t the only reason Garak was so insistent on secrecy. 

Julian stopped dead in the middle of the promenade and looked around him, a hot, tight feeling crushing his chest. 

This whole time, he’d been so wrapped up in the intrigue of it all and the fear that Starfleet would find out that he hadn’t considered that there might be consequences for Garak. Exiled or not, he was probably being watched by people who demanded his loyalty even after abandoning him.

Enabran Tain. Was he still watching? Did he know about him and Garak? What would he do to either one of them if he did? The idea made him feel sick. 

He felt invisible eyes on his back as he got a meal in the replimat and brought it swiftly into the enclosed safety of the infirmary. It was ridiculous to suddenly become paranoid now. Nothing had changed in the past minute, except that he’d realised what should have been obvious from the start: being with Garak wasn’t safe. 

***

“One wonders why you came here, knowing I’d be poor conversation and even worse company afterwards,” Garak said, half way through a meal he hadn’t known he’d been starving for until he’d sat down to eat it.

“I’d like to make sure you eat at least one meal today.” Julian spoke even more softly than usual, and had insisted on keeping the lights at ten percent so they didn’t set off his migraine again. His eyes were trained on his food, and he’d been more reserved since coming over for dinner. 

“Really, you sometimes act as though I’m incapable of looking after myself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re incapable of anything, Garak. Except maybe accepting help.” 

“Have I been making your job difficult, Doctor?”

“Frankly, I’d be more worried if you weren’t.”

It confused him how insistent Julian was on looking after him, even now that he wasn’t dying. And how _fond_ he seemed to be. It hit him in waves in every conversation they had these days: Julian had seen him at his worst and still liked him, still considered him a friend. And, apparently, more. For however long that lasted.

Julian still wasn’t looking at him for longer than a few seconds at a time. Had he upset him? Had something happened in the infirmary? Or perhaps it was simply that the time for this to end had come even sooner than he’d expected. 

“Garak.”

Serious. Hesitant. Still looking at his food more than him. Garak felt himself tense and put on an open look so Bashir didn’t notice. The last thing he wanted was the man’s sympathy as he broke up with him.

“Are the Obsidian Order watching you?”

Not the question he expected, but a damning one nonetheless. 

The usual instinct to lie carried him as far as opening his mouth, but then he stopped. This was Julian. He wouldn’t believe him if he did lie. And then he’d leave anyway.

“I doubt I’m worth the resources. But information stored in the computer can be accessed at any time. Security feeds, the locations of station residents and officers, unencrypted files and communications, financial accounts, replicator orders and so on. And I don’t doubt for a moment that if someone decided they wanted to check what I was up to, they could.” 

Julian pursed his lips, jaw set, nodding slowly. Garak hadn’t mentioned any of this before because he wanted to protect him from this constant paranoia. It was a secret he allowed to poison him because the alternative was poisoning Julian with the stress of it. 

“You think they’d hurt me to get to you?”

The expectation that hurting Julian would be enough to hurt him was both painful and accurate. 

_Or make me hurt you_ , he thought, but didn’t say.

“It is possible.” 

“That’s why you really wanted to keep this secret. It’s not about Starfleet at all.”

Garak sighed and lowered his head. He was too tired to come up with any intelligent deflections. All he could do was wait for Bashir’s verdict. 

“I had a right to know I was in danger.” His voice was still low, still considerate. It was worse than being yelled at. At least then he could fight back without feeling like he was the only one fighting.

“I hadn’t realised that you didn’t. To a Cardassian, it would have been obvious. And by the time I did realise...” He hadn’t wanted to scare him away. It was selfish, he knew. The truly selfless thing to do would be to let Julian go so he’d be safe, so he could find someone who could love him in the open.

“As you frequently point out, I’m not Cardassian. Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

A Cardassian would be arguing viciously while he tore off his clothes, or would have made a cool remark and left. But Julian was human, so here he was, not knowing which way this was going to go. 

“If there was, it would be for your own safety.” 

Julian eyed him. “Ah. What I don’t know can’t hurt me, you mean.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I disagree. I don’t mind you keeping your secrets. If you don’t want to talk about what you did before, that’s none of my business. But when you’re keeping secrets about this, about us- maybe a Cardassian would be alright with that. But I’m not.”

“I see.” Garak tried to conjure some kind of fortitude to face him with. Why was he still here? 

“Is there anything else?” Julian asked again, eyes on him. “I can’t accept the risks of a situation without knowing what they are.” What did he want? The whole story of Palandine, the meetings in the garden in the Coranum sector, the bruises on her face when Barkan found out about them? The cold feeling of not knowing, even now, whether she was still alive?

More torturous honesty was required. “The Order considers sentiment a weakness to be stamped out. Especially in me. A personal interest would be taken in punishing me for this, and they would have no qualms about using you to that end.” 

“Even though you don’t work for them anymore?”

Garak made a loose, defeated gesture. The nausea from earlier was starting to creep back in, and he didn’t much feel like talking anymore. 

Julian sighed and set his bowl aside. 

“In these situations, humans tend to apologise when they’re in the wrong,” he said. Garak had never felt so lost in a conversation with him. 

“As you frequently point out, I _am_ Cardassian,” Garak pointed out. “But if that is the done thing, then I am sorry for keeping this from you.” 

Julian nodded and stood up to return his bowl to the replicator. Garak didn’t watch. He steeled himself for attack. He waited to be told that wasn’t good enough, for Julian to put his dish in the replicator and leave, to be left alone yet again with absolutely nothing left to comfort him, but Julian just returned to his seat with an unreadable expression. 

“In the future, I need to know. But I forgive you.”

In the future. He envisioned a future beyond this darkened, quiet room weighed down by his soft disappointment? Garak drank it in like the warmth of heavy Cardassian air.

“Thank you.” 

And then the moment was gone faster than it arrived, and Julian clasped his hands together under his chin, looking at him calmly. 

“Now, about these headaches. Your brain went through a massive chemical change. It’s normal for it to still be adjusting.”

Garak blinked at him. It had been years since he’d been so thoroughly blindsided by a person. Where everyone he’d been close to in his life before had been evasive, took betrayal and either accepted it or worked out revenge years down the line, Julian simply confronted things head on. He really ought to stop giving Garak reasons to love him. It was getting exhausting.

“So you keep saying,” Garak slowly said. “But there is a chance that this is not a period of readjustment, but a permanent consequence of my actions. There is a chance that I cannot be fixed.”

It was his nature to prepare for the worst, and anything better was a pleasant surprise he only hoped for when he was feeling sentimental.

“I’m not going to give up that easily, Garak, and neither are you.”

Garak stared, surprised by the sudden expression of dedication after expecting a swift separation minutes before. 

“It’s thanks to you that I’m alive in the first place. I can’t possibly ask you to carry on-“

“Just stop it, Garak. You don’t have to deal with everything alone, and I have no intention of letting you. Understood?” 

_You can push him away now, get rid of him, you don’t need him, you can’t rely on the whims of a Starfleet officer to save you-_

He breathed in. Julian was daring him to argue - the wrong kind of argument. He was captivating in the dim light. 

“Thank you, doctor. You are most kind.” 

A warm hand closed around his on the table. Julian looked determined, insistent. How was he supposed to resist that?

Despite the danger, despite Tain and the Order, despite the consequences he would face from Starfleet if he was caught with him, Julian was still here. He still wanted to help him. He still wanted _him_. 

Why?

He didn’t understand, he couldn’t jeopardise this by asking. 

Julian told him to rest again, and kissed him on the cheek when he left. A very human display of affection, and one he seemed to be particularly fond of. 

How to explain to a doctor - a man who showed affection by open displays of care and devotion - that Garak only knew how to love in silence, in negative space, in secret, and in keeping secrets? He had been forbidden to refer to Mila as his mother outside his home after joining the Obsidian Order, and he had stuck by that duty for years, no matter how isolating and painful. That was how he showed devotion.

But as Tolan said, _too many secrets poison the soul._ And though Garak was willing to poison what was left of his for Julian, it seemed that Julian didn’t want him to. He wanted the truth, always. Garak had learned long ago never to trust the truth, just as he couldn’t trust safety, or happiness, or love. Yet Julian insisted on forcing him to experience all three with alarming regularity compared to his previous years in exile. It was terribly rude of him. 

Ruder still that he didn’t seem to know he was doing it. 

He took the new painkillers Julian had brought by, hoping to prevent any hopeful migraine from rising before it got too severe, and slumped back into bed. It was cold, even with the heat turned up, and he bound himself in blankets.

It was utterly foolish of him to love Julian at all, let alone as much as he did. He doubted even Julian was naive enough to have developed that depth of feeling for him. Garak was near impossible to love. The kindness Julian showed was just that: kindness he’d show anyone. But now Garak had it, he would do whatever was necessary to cling onto the only source of real warmth left to him for as long as he could. 

Tastefully, of course. He didn’t want to look clingy in his clinging. That would only drive Julian away faster.

He wasn’t ready to lose that warmth yet. 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Too many secrets poison the soul' is quote from A Stitch in Time by Andy Robinson.  
> It's important to note that a lot of what Julian thinks is Cardassian here is probably what he's got from Garak, and a lot of what Garak thinks is Cardassian is probably what he's got from Tain. There are a lot of Cardassians out there just trying to live their lives as regular people.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] too many secrets poison the soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368894) by [GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfLaundryBaskets/pseuds/GoLBPodfics)




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